Finn Greyfoot's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Finn walked the north path at dawn, as he did now every morning. Rain had softened the ground overnight. He breathed the cold air and stopped. The scent hit him like a hand to the chest. He knew it before he wanted to. Wet fur. Pine ash. The smell of his old pack. A fresh trail crossed his patrol, still warm. He could not tell if they had come to watch him or to drag him back. He followed it. The trail bent along the river toward the tall elvish tree that served as the haven's watch post. Its trunk rose thick as a house, ringed with railed walkways and old iron bells. The scent led right to its base. Two sets of prints. They had stood there and looked up at the tower. Finn's hands shook. He climbed the stone steps to the door, then made himself stop. He would not run to Raven like a scared pup. He would face them first. He turned and called into the reeds. "I smell you. Come out." Two wolves rose from the brush. Grown men from his old pack. One he knew. He had carried Finn's mother's firewood once. The man's eyes were not angry. They were sorry. "The elder sent us," the man said. "To see if the pup lived." "You came to take me back." "No." The man shook his head. "We came to see. That's all." He looked up at the tower, then at the smoke rising past the trees. "You found people who keep you." "I have work here," Finn said. "I have a place. I don't need the pack that threw us out." Footsteps came behind him. Raven crossed from the tower door, arms folded, glasses catching the gray light. She had heard. She stepped between Finn and the two men without a word, then looked them over slow. "He's ours now," Raven said. "You crossed our paths to learn that. You learned it." She did not raise her voice. "Go home. Tell the elder the pup eats fine." The wolf who had known Mara held Finn's eyes a moment longer. "Your mother would be glad," he said. Then both men turned and slipped back into the trees. Finn tracked their scent until it thinned and died on the far bank. They did not circle. They did not stay. They were gone. Raven watched him breathe. "You caught them before they reached the mill," she said. "That's twice now." "They won't come again," Finn said. He believed it. "Maybe." Raven turned back toward the tower. "But the pack knows where you are now. And the pack talks." She looked at him flat. "Others will come asking. Not all of them will be sorry." Finn stood at the base of the great tree. The old fear was gone. In its place sat something heavier. He was not lost anymore. He was found, and being found could be tracked.